


Enough

by jumponvaljean (whoatherejavert)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, this is not a fandom it's a serious problem
Genre: 'les grumpy old men boning' has a much nicer ring to it, ANYHOW, AU, M/M, a wild snark! attack appears, but srsly hugo if u cut the sewer crap u could've had valjean and javert boning i'm just sayin, i mean i guess it's AU cause nobody's dead and canonically ALL MY FRIENDS ARE DEAD, imagine someone being bitter because you killed off everyone they loved huh amusing thought right, javert gets a gold star for trying anyway so no worries, javert is not down for unhappy cuddles, maybe i am bitter, that sounded bitter sorry victor hugo, this is not how you comfort people unless you are these two sad bastards, valjean needs cuddles because bad dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 04:16:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoatherejavert/pseuds/jumponvaljean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted by hoflords on tumblr: "Valjean has a nightmare and Javert has to comfort him."</p><p>Brain decided: Javert finds comforting difficult and resorts to snark and awkwardness. Good guy Javert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



Neither of them are men who sleep easily, or even well. Their pasts are too full and too raw for refuge to be found in simple sleep; their memories far more potent than the sweet imaginings they seek and are refused. Sour dreams are not uncommon most nights.

It is one such night, Javert fears. He lies looking over at the sleeping form of Jean Valjean. Even in the limited light, he can see as Valjean twists awkwardly in the sheets next to him, his closed eyes tight and his arms pulled to his chest. As he watches the man’s hand quickly twists into a fist and strikes hard upon the pillow – once, twice – and Javert feels a shiver of fear run through him. Valjean’s fierce movements are blunted only slightly by his slumber and even like this he has the strength of his build on his side.

It is not a strength that follows through to his dreams, it would seem. Javert hears a small whimper that sits oddly in his ears, like the squeak of a lion or the roar of a mouse. The noise is no noise that he should have to hear from Jean-le-Cric, indeed, it is no noise he should have to hear from any man.

And so the fear gives way to concern, gives way to worry, and in this Valjean’s body seems to mimic him; he shudders as his fist jumps on the pillow weakly and whatever anger stirs in his dream is sated for he moves no more. Javert jumps a little as the man’s feet knock into his own. They are cold. The fool has kicked the sheets from himself.

“Jean?” Javert’s voice is not much more than a whisper. He twists his neck and speaks to the broad back that faces him. “Jean?”

There is a muffled noise that sounds like a suppressed cry. Javert sits up quickly and reaches a tentative hand for the man’s shoulder. It heaves under his touch.

“ _Jean._ ” There is an urgency in his tone that does little to mask the fact he does not know what else to say.

Nevertheless, it is enough. There is a gasp and the bed judders as Valjean turns to face him, knocking the hand from his shoulder as he draws himself up to rest on his hands. His eyes are wide and unseeing and Javert feels like a trespasser in his own bed.

“Javert?” Jean sounds confused as he asks the question – and it is a question, not simply a statement – before his eyes finally settle on the inspector and close in relief. His tense posture weakens and he sinks back into the bed, breaths still coming hard as he sets a hand over his mouth. “Javert.”

The name is said quietly, almost reverentially. It is weighed down by relief and warmth and a thousand other things Javert cannot quite identify. He is not so sure why Valjean should say his name in that way and he does not know if he wants to find out.

“You are here,” Valjean continues, and his voice sounds steadier with each breath. Javert edges closer as Valjean grips his arm and pulls himself up to catch the man’s gaze. He reaches out a shaking hand to touch Javert’s face as if he cannot quite trust his own eyes. A sad little laugh escapes him as warm skin rewards his searching fingers. “By God’s grace, Javert, you are here.”

Javert allows the man to throw his arms around him and rests his own around Valjean’s shoulders. His grip is tight and desperate but not wholly unwelcome.

“I did not leave,” Javert says quietly, though it sounds more like a contradiction of Valjean’s statement than words of comfort. He frowns at himself. “You were dreaming,” he supplies.

Valjean shudders at the reminder and the arms grip tighter around him. “It was not a good dream.”

Javert nods sharply, unsure of what to offer. He has few soft words and even fewer experience with such needs. “I am here,” he says, a little uselessly. Galled at his own incompetence, he cannot hold back his next comment, muttered into the neck of Valjean’s nightshirt. “Though you have already established that quite emphatically.”

Jean Valjean laughs over his shoulder and if it is not his usually light laughter then it is at least a start. He pulls back to meet the inspector’s eyes and there is still a sense of relief in the way he looks at him. His hands still sit tightly on Javert’s arms, not quite enough to be uncomfortable, but more than enough to be noticeable. The dream must have been unkinder than Javert can imagine.

“In my dreams you were not,” Valjean confesses. His eyes are serious and sad and Javert resorts to a form of comfort he has evidently picked up in his years of service.

“Well. You are awake now,” he points out. “And I am here.” These are the salient facts and Javert feels confident in providing them. The words may not be soft but they are well meant and Valjean smiles to hear them. Javert takes pride in his achievement and reaches for Jean’s hand, loosening his grip and winding his own fingers around the still-slick palm.

“Lie back,” he suggests. “I will not leave.” He gives their joined hands a small shake as if to emphasize his words.

The smile is sad but Valjean does as he is bid. Javert rests his back against the headboard as Valjean settles against the length of his leg and he wonders idly if Valjean has ever had to do something similar to this for Cosette – whether he held her hands in both of his or just one; whether he stroked her brow or pressed a kiss to it; whether he said soft words or kept silent. He wonders if he is even doing it right. He worries he is not.

Glancing at Valjean he finds that the man is watching his face. After settling the sheets in an awkward silence, Javert finds himself compelled to reach over and wipe a damp curl back from the man’s forehead. “Will you tell me?” he asks as he does so. Valjean looks away from him and he worries he has made an error, so he rushes to rectify it without knowing quite how to begin. “Only, if you are—I will—if you would like to—”

Valjean leans closer into him and his words are almost a whisper. “I was running,” he begins. “It was dark. Cold. I—I could hear water.”

Javert feels the man tense against him and he squeezes the hand he holds gently.

“And then I saw you. There.”

The tone of the single word suggests what Valjean will not say. Javert can guess however, from the way that Valjean tightens his grip and turns his head into Javert’s arm, exactly where the nightmare has placed him.

They do not talk of that night on the bridge. It is something in the past and it will stay there, along with chains and brands and a number that is not a name. Javert does not look at Valjean but he can feel the brown eyes upon him anyway.

“I could not reach you,” Jean Valjean continues in a muffled undertone that threatens to crack. “I dreamed—I knew you were too far, always too far. I could not—Javert, I could not stop—”

“You did.”

Javert is surprised at how loud his voice sounds in the dark room. The shock is good, he decides, because it breaks whatever spell the nightmare has cast upon them both. Valjean buries his face in the crook of Javert’s arm and Javert allows it, resting a hand on the man’s back.

“You did,” he says again, but it is softer this time. “And you have suffered me each day since, Jean.” The man does not reply and Javert feels tiredness hit him as he yawns and pats absent-mindedly at his back. His next comment is almost to himself. “Perhaps that is the true nightmare.”

At this Valjean turns his head and in his eyes Javert sees Jean-le-Cric, sees Jean Valjean, sees anger battling pain and he is not as surprised as he means to be when Valjean escapes his grip and pins him against the headboard with a growl.

“ _No_. No, Javert.”

Javert lets his head rest against the wood of the headboard – he must confess, it is far easier to speak to Valjean when he is riled like this and not trembling in his arms. They are on steadier ground and it makes him bold. “Surely it is no better than a nightmare, though,” he presses as Valjean stares him in the eye, “to wake and have me…” He gestures awkwardly, unsure. He wants to convey his ineptness but pride prevents him from stating it outright.

“Here,” says Valjean, keeping his gaze. “I wake and have you here. It is a dream, Javert. It is all I need. I can ask for no better dream.”

And that is his comfort, Javert realizes. He does not need to fetter and fuss and hold him as a child. There is enough comfort in the nearness, enough in the weight of a hand to hold and more than enough simply in a heart beating in sync with his own. Javert is, though the notion is strange and new to him, _enough._

“I am here,” Javert says finally. The apology goes unspoken but it is there nonetheless.

“I know.” Valjean deflates somewhat and there is softness in his eyes again. He reaches for Javert’s hand and pulls him down into the sheets. “I know.”

Neither of them will ever sleep easily, or well. But they will sleep next to each other and they will stay close under the same sheet and it will be enough.

It is enough.


End file.
